Love Beneath a Concrete Sky

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From iron cage to iron cage, concrete walls and skies and floors
From the trees that never age, and the scrap metal, iron moors
The hustle, the bustle
The endless parades
With blaring horns and roaring engines
and the tyres that squeal
and the children that run
and the dog that barks at your back
the smoke, the ash, the screams, the cries
the little gentleness that cries inside.

Does my rear extend within this gown?
Where did you stick that piece of gum?
Come back! Come back!
And he only laughed
To see the tears flowing back.

The river runs fast and strong, a throng
Of suits and pants dipped in pitch
A million umbrellas stretched out wide
Like the skin upon the wings of a billion bats
Squealing and shrieking through the streets
Nipping and screeching through the night.

U said u <3ed me!
N I lied
Besides,
The ocean is wide

The dark, the dark
The darkness of night
Cowers shivering from the lights
Wrapped in corners
In  shadow deep
Finding a place where it could weep
and hide, hide from the million, billion, trillion lights

The people lost, their bodies writhe
Amassed upon the tower heights
Drowned in noise, covered with smoke
They pretend to be the words they spoke.
Stolen smiles, stolen dreams,
Stolen drinks worth more than any of these
Come here child and say hello
Now let me take you home.

Back to my golden cage my bird,
Where I'll make you sing
And dance, and sleep
Make you regret this night
Even in your dreams.
She smiled back, and said hello
'I won't remember,
Wont remember a thing'
And agreed.

Memory Palace

I dream because dreaming is better than waking, even with the monsters and mazes and repetitive arcs.
I dream because dreams take me to better places than this corner in the dark.
They writhe in rhythm with the beat of drums, to war, to war, they cry.
I smile because I can dream of places long gone, places turned to dust.
In my dream they smile with me, and the gentle music sways to the scent of musk and lavender.
Her laughter twinkles like a million stars, and his eyes reflect the light of a thousand crystals.
But reality pounds upon my door, and shakes my conjured house.
Memory palace, palace, gardens, a fountain bright and pure, pure, stream water running into the river, running into the ocean wide and vast.
That is where I wish to be, in the silent, deepest dark. To be a drop of water amongst a million billion others.
It is always night in my dreams, the time of mystery, miracle and magic. Tonight, you're looking at me with closed eyes and an open heart, and I see the breath of fire blow strength into you. Tonight, reality has been lost and found.
Dreaming is reality, reality is dreamed up.
May our wishes find a million shooting stars.

Sleeping Beauty II

I dreamt of a tower built long ago. Surrounded by rolling hills and a garden of peaches.
A hundred sleeping beauties, all in a row, draped over beds and chairs and sofas.
And whittling away at a bench, an old woman grey.
Forever bent over the kitchen stove, serving cold breakfast to a dozing dragon

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A hundred sleeping beauties still dream though the soft sunlight across their face, all wrapped in their blankets, silk and lace
Look, there's one head upon her elbow leaning across the stairs. 
An old woman dozes in front of the dwindling fire, knitting upon her lap. 
A hundred pairs of socks, a hundred scarves and a hundred woolly caps. 
The dragon as ever, curled about her feet, blowing embers on to the stove, keeping the kettle warm.


a hundred years of quiet winter nights... 

Pumpkin Patch

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I am not a princess
I don't do sparkling eyes
My hair ties into knots
My clothes well... they're not always the right size

I have a prince charming
He's called Teddy and he sits on my bed
My pumpkin coach is a rumbling train
My ball gown... well lets not go there.

I dont like the sound of squealing
I'm... kind of, afraid of mice
My guardian angel is my pillow
My fairy mother is my bed.
My real mother, shes not evil
Just frazzled from her job.


I'm not ravishingly beautiful
I dont do tooth-aching sweet
I'm not always kind or nice or supportive
Sometimes I'm even mean


I went to my graduating formal
The dress was hard to afford
It didnt look that great anyway,
It was a bit bigger than it looked.
My date nearly lost my stuff
I thought I'd go in jeans.
Cinderella story? I think not.
I even spilled my drink.

Long summer days at the beach then?
The thermometer never hit 30
And the rain, oh the rain, it rained
Every day of the week.
Walks in the rain then? One umbrella?
Dont be daft.
We were both too busy,
Way too busy to ask.

What about the new start, the new beginning?
The one you'd said would come?
I dont know, it remains foretold
A glimmer of flames in the dark...

But lets face it, Billions of people
Amassed, to the music, sways
All lost in their wave of despair and desire
To think, that a few must be lost
And very few ever found
And who am I to have such luck?

Cicada's Song

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It's towards the end of April, the leaves are starting to fall 

The browns and red and yellows, woolly scarves, brick walls

And rain, gentle and thundering, churn the dark topsoil

The last of the roses droop, petals shining with pearls

The vines that wind round the braided arch whither 

Apple trees hung heavy with swollen fruit

And the chill that mists your breath in the morning 

The beech with its golden carpet and chocolate roots

Not this year. 

The crickets sing of summer in the evening 

When the sky still glows orange from the setting sun

A full symphony of bullfrogs still choir, though the midnight bell's been rung

There's still that hum of warmth about the mornings

Still that nostalgic sweetness, the giddiness, the taste of December in the air

As if somehow summer had never come before, 

Now returning to us, and it has stayed there

Lulling time into forgetfulness

I sit by the window, listening to the cicada's songs

Half-dreaming half awakened, half filled with sorrow

The cold mug sits forgotten on a nearby chair

The potted plants still budding on the window sill

Remembering a summer never been

Wishing to return to times gone by 

At the eve of autumn's satire of a summer's day. 

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There are things that never could be.

There are things that never should be.

The things we wish for are both above.